


His Life's Work

by Whoareyou0000



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Violence, Bottom Justin, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Brian Kinney Loves Justin Taylor, Brian Takes Care of Justin, Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Coping, Explicit Language, Gay Bashing, Implied Sexual Content, Liberty Diner (Queer as Folk), M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Missing Scene, POV Brian Kinney (Queer as Folk), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Brian Kinney (Queer as Folk), Protectiveness, Romantic Gestures, Top Brian Kinney (Queer as Folk)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:40:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28745601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whoareyou0000/pseuds/Whoareyou0000
Summary: Brian doesn’t throw Justin onto the mattress. No, he places him in the center of the two pillows like a painting that needs to be hung just right. Then he crawls possessively over the smaller body, framing him with his arms and legs, signing his unblemished skin with his lips. Claiming the boy that has become his life’s work.Because they've survived another day, even though someone else did not.
Relationships: Brian Kinney/Justin Taylor (Queer as Folk)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42





	His Life's Work

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't happy with the ending to "Priorities, Please! (Beat the Time)" so I wrote an alternative scene. Somewhat AU to accomodate Britin. 
> 
> Also, this is my first Queer as Folk fanfic, so thanks for reading and I'd appreciate any feedback!

People die every day in Brian Kinney’s world. 

His dad. Guys he’s fucked. Guys he’s sucked. Guys he hasn’t fucked or sucked but would have had he seen them while they still had a heartbeat. The guy in the dumpster who he shared a bump with once. 

Death is a reality in his community and Brian is nothing if not a realist. 

So, while Deb’s sniffling all over his bacon, while Mikey is passing around petitions about fictional characters, it’s all just another day for Brian and pretending to shed a tear over another corpse just isn’t his style. 

It’s a normal night at Babylon too. The music is bumping, the dicks are humping, and Justin is at his side checking out the latest crop of potential fucks. It’s a churning hoard of speedos and bare chests. The caged dancers blow whistles to the beat of the synth. Brian and Justin stick out in their everyday attire, too good to bow down to _theme night._

“What about that one?” 

He points to a lanky blonde with abs Brian could trace with his tongue. The older man shakes his head, keeping one claiming hand on the younger’s lower back. He doesn’t miss the many men who cast lustful glances at Justin’s ass when they walk past, drool practically hanging from their lips. The boy could have anyone he wanted with so much as a nod. 

Which is fine, it is their arrangement. Still, Brian knows this crowd and he considers it his duty to make sure Justin chooses wisely and safely. 

“Too short.” 

Too blonde, actually. Justin has ruined him for blondes, the fucking kid. 

Justin chews his bottom lip, making it all pouty. It takes some self-control for Brian to not snatch it between his teeth and _suck_. He’s covered every inch of that body with his lips in the privacy of his loft. In public, though, well he has a reputation to uphold and he can’t be caught making out like a horny teenager on the dance floor. 

“Him, the one in the red hotpants. He has a nice ass.”

The large, muscled guy spots them just as Brian’s eyes linger on his curved bulge. He licks his lips and gives a knowing smile. Brian traces an errant finger beneath the waistband of Justin’s jeans, touching his crack, and imagines bringing that guy into their home, fucking him while he sucks Justin off. The red shorts discarded somewhere on the floor. 

It’s hot and he’s about to give Justin the go ahead when another image flashes before his eyes. 

Dumpster guy. Except this time, he’s wearing Justin’s blood-caked face. 

Brian catches his breath and runs a hand through his hair. Justin is watching, his eyes squinting in concern. Then the blonde’s hands are on Brian’s sides and he’s saying something that Brian can’t make out over the club beats. Suddenly, Brian is angry and dragging his partner down the steps, through the crowd, and out the front door into the street, not giving a second glance to _hotpants_ in passing. 

“Brian, what’s going on?” 

They stop when Justin plants his feet like a bratty toddler, his tone demanding. A few chicken hawks cast judgmental glares in their direction as they pass. Brian flips them off all while herding Justin against the brick wall, away from any passing threat. He doesn’t listen. He never does.

“We can pick someone else. The hotpants were too cliché anyway.” 

Brain scoffs at the stupidity of that statement. 

“I don’t care about the shorts. I just want to get the fuck out of here.” He takes two steps and knows at once that Justin isn’t following. An about-face tells him that the kid has actually turned around and headed back towards the club. “Where the fuck are you going?” 

Justin raises his eyebrows and gives a small smile. “To tell Emmett and Ted that we’re leaving. It’ll just take a minute. I’ll meet you at the car.” 

His arm shoots out without thinking and he grabs Justin’s wrist before he can take another step. The blonde is pulled forward with momentum and he lands roughly against Brian’s chest. Wide blue eyes peer up at him in wonder and he’s reminded of their first meeting in this same spot almost two years earlier. 

What if he hadn’t been there at that exact moment? Would Justin have gone home with someone else? With the same person as Dumpster Guy?

“They’re big boys, Sunshine. They’ll figure it out.” 

Brian’s grip does not relent when he turns and starts heading for the jeep, the blonde in tow. Justin comes along easily now. He can still feel those worried eyes, though, peering holes into his back. 

“Are you feeling okay?” 

They weave their way through a hoard of men in tight shirts and crew cuts. Brian tightens his grip and feels Justin wince. He lets up just enough, still keeping an eye on every bare-chested threat that comes their way. Forever searching for baseball bats in their hands. 

“I’m bored.” He does his best to sound like it too. “There’s no one here worth our time.” 

They reach the jeep and Justin climbs in with no further fight. The engine churns to life and Brian immediately turns the radio to off before slamming on the gas and jetting down Liberty and away from all of it. His passenger shifts around in the seat and ducks under the seatbelt to fit it behind his back instead of over his chest. It’s nothing he hasn’t done dozens of times before, but today it makes Brian’s haunches rise.

“Jesus, Justin. For once could you wear it the right way.” 

The blonde’s perky mouth hangs open. In any other moment, in any other mood, it’d be an invitation. Now, Brian just rolls his eyes and guns the engine.

“Why?” Justin grins in that smug way. “You know the cops around here don’t give a shit.” 

Brain slams on the brakes. The car jerks just roughly enough to make his point. His reflexes are quick enough to catch Justin by the sleeve and pull him back before he falls too far forward, puts another hole in his skull, ruins Brian’s leather interior. He makes eyes contact, punctuates the lesson. 

“That’s why, smartass.” 

Justin scoffs, his smile suddenly gone. His face hardens in the way that it does when he’s annoyed. He relents, though, pulling the strap back over his head until it rests on his chest. Brian nods, starts the car again, drives like he’s being chased. Maybe he is. 

The blonde faces him, accusing. 

“Okay, why are you being an asshole?” 

Brian puts on _the face_ and pays strict attention to the road ahead, hypnotizing himself with the oncoming headlights. He’s Brian Kinney and nothing matters to him other than sex, drugs, and the paycheck that awards him both. It works, temporarily. 

“You should know me well enough by now to recognize my general demeanor.” 

“Nice try.” Justin smiles stupidly. “You’re an asshole to everyone else. Not to me.” 

Brian takes a turn too quickly. His stomach digs its way into his chest, his lungs spreading for the intrusion. He swallows it all down, smirks, pretends. 

“Welcome to the club, Justy. VIP access just for you.” 

Silence follows as they pass through a couple green lights. Brian wants more than anything to get home, to lock the door behind them both, and pour a drink that will make him forget the way the blood congealed in Justin’s golden hair. The kid continues on as if Brian isn’t internally combusting. 

“I know you were into that guy. You get this spark in your eyes, like you’ve been starving for months and suddenly you spot a juicy cheeseburger. Then your pupils dilate, you lick your lips, and you start touching me like you can’t help yourself.” Justin trails a hand over Brian’s thigh. “It gets me going.” 

“Isn’t that sweet.” Brian meets Justin’s challenge with a confident smirk and then nudges his hand away. “He was trying too hard, which means he’s a terrible fuck. You should thank me for saving us the frustration.” 

Justin laughs, shakes his head, tugs on the seatbelt strap just to taunt. “You know, if you wanted it to be just us tonight, you could have said so.” 

Brian grips the steering wheel’s soft leather until its indented with his fingerprints. They’re off Liberty now, heading towards their quieter neighborhood. His pulse still mirrors Babylon’s throbbing soundtrack, chasing away any semblance of peace suggested by the line of darkened windows.

“What I want is some quiet time away from the 24/7 fuck, snort, and suck brigade. I thought you might like to come along. If I’m wrong, feel free to walk back.” 

He holds his breath, because Justin just might. Then Brian will have to pick the little brat up and carry him back to the car like Gus when he can’t have his binky. The things he does for this kid, who just shrugs and picks at his nails as if he hasn’t just given Brian a near-heart attack. 

“Nah, Lifeguard Night isn’t really my thing anyway.” 

Justin doesn’t protest further, to Brian’s relief. He pulls into his driveway and exits the jeep with a slam of the door. The blonde follows at his side, their arms touching as they walk. The elevator ride is long and quiet. Brian closes his eyes and tries to see any color other than red. 

The motor whirrs and grunts suggestively. Justin sidles closer, lacing the fingers of his weaker hand with the older man’s sweaty palm. It’s safe to hold hands at home. It’s safe to hold lots of things at home. 

“So hey, I knew that guy. The one from the dumpster. I served him a few times at the diner. He was nice, kind of goofy actually. He wore this t-shirt once that said ‘Back Door, Huh? Good Idea!’ and it had a picture of a lightsaber on it.” Justin shrugs, his smile fading. The elevator jumps and then stops. “Not really my type, but he didn’t deserve what happened.” 

“Alas, death is a fickle bitch.” Brian lifts the wooden gate and they walk out together. “Some even say she’s a lesbian.” He fiddles with the keys until he manages to secure the correct one with his one free hand. Stuffing it into the lock, he exhales his relief when the loft’s stale air greets them. 

They step inside and the exhaustion immediately hits Brian. The tension, the _fear_ that held him up from the moment they left the club dissipates and the loft’s ambient nature works as a lullaby. Now in a place of safety, he releases Justin and heads for the kitchen, where a full bottle of whiskey awaits. He’s in the process of pouring while Justin laments. 

“It’s just weird, though.” The blonde hoists himself up onto the counter, waits for Brian to hand him a glass. “He was alive yesterday, eating eggs and fucking and talking about Star Wars. Now, he’s just…not. No one even cares, either. It’s like he didn’t even exist.” 

Brian plays keep-a-way with the crystal tumbler until he gets that one-of-a-kind Justin smile. Then the kid turns flirtatious eyes to him as he downs a mouthful of the sweet liquid. Brian turns away, eyes roaming to the scar on Justin’s head where the hair never fully grew back. He has the sudden urge to touch the smooth line of skin, push away Justin’s attempts to cover the spot and let the kitchen’s track lighting illuminate the memory that the shadows cannot. 

“Earth to Brian.” Justin’s warm palm finds his cheek. Its intimate, too much. It’s enough for him to pull away and finish his drink in one swallow. “Where’d you go?”

Justin’s legs dangle to the sides of Brain’s hips, kicking out in alternation like a giddy child. Brian sets his glass on the counter and moves in, steady’s those thighs with a firm grip. His thumbs caress the denim-clad flesh leading up and up to their inevitable destination. The blonde’s face relaxes and his cheeks pinken perfectly. The older man purses his lips, _wants._

“Death is boring. _Dead people_ are boring. Talking about them is even more boring.” He sinks fingers into the fleshy bottom and drags Justin forward until they’re touching from chest to groin. Then he places a single, heated kiss to those perky, strawberry lips. “We’re alive, so let’s act like it and fuck like our lives depend on it.”

The sun comes out again. Then long, strong legs wrap around Brian’s waist and he grips that ass with _intent._ The journey to the bed is wrought with messy kisses, warring tongues, and passionate grinding. Brian doesn’t throw Justin onto the mattress. No, he places him in the center of the two pillows like a painting that needs to be hung just right. Then he crawls possessively over the smaller body, framing him with his arms and legs, signing his unblemished skin with his lips. Claiming the boy that has become his life’s work. 

Justin mewls, keens, thrusts his dick upward to meet the other. Brian snakes a hand down between their legs and grips the blonde’s hard-on, eliciting an excited gasp that transcends their kiss and breathes sweet, whiskey-tasting life into his panicked lungs. He trails those kisses up Justin’s cheek and onto his forehead, where he stops at the edge of where the baseball bat began. 

Justin freezes. Everything stops except for Brian’s heartbeat, which races as he touches the healed flesh, traces the raised line. Then he drops his head, nuzzles that baby soft hair, noses at the scar before dragging his lips over its borders and closing his eyes against the image of the once-shattered bone beneath. There is red behind his lids, red everywhere, expanding in a puddle that surrounds them both, drowning them in its viciousness. 

A soft touch to the back of his head calms Brian, keeps him in place. The artist’s careful fingers draw patterns upon the brunette scalp. He imagines that the kid is spelling something, three words that they’ll never utter out loud. Then Justin’s chest rises and falls faster, and his legs wrap around Brian as if he’s hanging on for dear life. Brian grips, squeezes, can never keep him close enough, safe enough. Then Justin speaks so softly that he nearly misses the plea. 

“Show me how alive I am, Brian. Show me.” 

So, Brian fills in the grave he’s dug in Justin’s hair, placing one last kiss to seal it for good, and then he exposes skin upon heated, blushing skin fueled by their drumming pulses.

Justin is alive and Brian’s going to make every one of the kid’s heartbeats into a symphony.


End file.
